


A Pinch of Gin

by orphan_account



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-10-09
Updated: 2008-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:35:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28220262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: A tongue-in-cheek tale of when the Doctor and Martha were trapped in 1969. It was for a fanfiction contest a while back for DoctorMartha in '69 prompt where I had to include a pimms glass, hens and the DoctorMartha having a crazy misunderstanding. I found it hard but I did it, creating this mess.
Relationships: Tenth Doctor/Martha Jones





	A Pinch of Gin

**Author's Note:**

> Created for the 1969-fic contest on smith_and_jones.

“Why did you have to laugh the gin through your nose?” screamed Martha.  
  
It had been a lovely evening to begin with. It had no faults. But then the Doctor had to go and make one small miscalculation about the gin in that pub. Now they were in a chase to get home. It would have to be the one night he leaves his sonic screwdriver at home! The Doctor was certain he had it in his pocket. What he pulled out was a bloody can-opener! Ironic, since the Doctor never used a can opener to open his canned beans; he used the sonic screwdriver. Nothing seemed to make sense with a Time Lord. His pockets were bigger on the inside, so Martha was grateful he didn’t pull out something even more ridiculous. The can-opener and Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band LP was weird enough.  
  
Running for, what Martha assumed, their lives, Team TARDIS-less rushed down a narrow ally way. It was obvious that the Doctor had not watched enough TV, contrary to what Martha thought every time she went to work. (He was always in front of the TV eating beans.) She knew what was coming… they ran down that ally only to find there was a high fence at the end.  
  
The Doctor groaned, clutching his trusty timey-wimey detector to his hearts. “We’re going to have to make a fight of it!”  
  
Martha gasped for air, “God, how did we get into this ridiculous situation in the first place?  
  
It all started earlier that evening when Martha came home from work to find the Doctor on his way out. She eyed the timey-wimey detector to see if it was ticking. It normally went beepwhen there was stuff. But it stood silent. To be honest she wasn’t sure whether the timey-wimey detector even worked. It was made out of cardboard, an old wireless radio, pieces of a television and other things he had pulled out of his pockets. To top it off it had been stuck together with super-glue and the sonic screwdriver. Still, at least he was resourceful. One would think he had been preparing to be stuck in 1963 all his life.  
  
Where is he off to now? she thought, but smiled nonetheless, “Going out?”  
  
“Oh, got bored sitting around here all day so I thought you and me could go out for a drink,” the Doctor said.  
  
Martha raised her eye-brows.  
  
“A friendly drink,” said the Doctor quickly, his eyes widening, worried about how it might sound. “I-I meant a friendly drink, you know, like you do on Saturdays with your mates. I-It's fun, right?”  
  
Martha chuckled, “I didn’t say anything.” The Doctor nodded slowly, picking up the timey-wimey detector and tugging it under his arm. She sighed, “Come, let’s go and have a purely friendly drink—you’re buying.”  
  
It was around Easter time so lots of people were going out to celebrate in the pub that evening. Sitting at the bar Martha noticed a little chicken display along with little rabbits. When you clapped they began doing a little dance. The Doctor looked at it and smiled widely, “Aw, look over there… they’ve got some little hens and bunnies. I like hens and bunnies.”  
  
“I had to dress up as a bunny once,” Martha said suddenly.  
  
The Doctor stared at her in surprise. She could tell what he was thinking, “No, nothing like that! God, your mind goes to dark places!”  
  
He cleared his throat with embarrassment. He clicked his fingers to get the bar man’s attention. He came over and took their orders before the Doctor turned back to Martha ready to hear what reason she had worn a bunny outfit.  
  
“I had to dress up for my brother’s kid and my little cousins,” she explained. “We have this tradition in the Jones family where every year one of us dresses up in the bunny costume and gives out the Easter eggs. Last year it was me. I was up all night making those bloody ears.”  
  
The Doctor began to imagine Martha dressed as a bunny and it couldn’t to it without a sudden, rather dirty, thought popping up in his head. He tried to blink it out of his head but it wouldn’t go. In the end he alarmed Martha when he snorted his drink through his nose and choked on the burning. He spilt his drink over the mechanical bunnies and hens. Their jolly dance slowly slowed into a typical broken robot.  
  
“Must be useful at fancy dress parties,” the Doctor finally said when he caught his breath.  
  
“I’ve only been to one fancy dress party since and it was a Halloween party,” Martha replied. “Trust me that bunny outfit is far from scary.”  
  
“You’d be surprised how scary bunnies can actually be. There was this one time when—”  
  
“Doctor!” interrupted Martha, pointing to the Easter display. As the Doctor had spoken, the chickens perked up and looked at the pair. Their eyes were glowing and glowering. “Some how I don’t think that is supposed to be part of their act…”  
  
“No, it’s not” a wide-eyed Doctor said.  
  
Slowly, the chickens advanced on them, one foot at a time, some having to break off the board they were screwed to. One of them took the time to peck the bunny sitting opposite it to pieces. The bunny flared up and caught fire, gaining the attention of the other people in the pub, who began to back away towards the door just like the Doctor and Martha.  
  
“You shouldn’t have spat out that drink over them!”  
  
“It’s not good saying that now. Sure bunnies can be scary but nothing is worse than a faulty robot chicken,” explained the Doctor, not keeping his eyes of the things.  
  
One of the chickens fluttered down and actually laid an egg. It shot across the room just missing the Doctor’s head. It landed outside in the street and blew up as soon as it the pavement. That was enough to make the other people in the pub flee out the door and fire exits. They didn’t have to worry.  
  
Their problem was with the Doctor, “Or rather a robot, egg-laying hen.”  
  
“Now, don’t be hasty,” croaked Martha at the poultry.  
  
“Martha, they’re robots,” the Doctor said, “they don’t understand reasoning.”  
  
"Who made them?"  
  
"I don't know - the vords, the mechanoids, the daleks... No, that's just silly! They're human creations. Left over from a factory I blew up in 1969... that was a good year. Jamie and I were just minding our own business--"  
  
"Doctor, focus!"  
  
"Sorry--anyway I thought all the robots were destroyed but obviously not. They're half animal and half robot, created to kill anyone who antagonised them. The gin must have awakened their primary directive... to kill."  
  
"They're birds. They can't be that bad."  
  
"Oh yeah? Remind me to take you to the premiere of The Birds one day!"  
  
He rummaged in his pocket, pulling out a yoyo, a biscuit, a pack of cards, the Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band LP, and… ah! The Doctor pulled out what he thought was the sonic screwdriver. It was the can opener!  
  
Martha stared at it, “What are you doing?”  
  
“I-I thought it was the sonic screwdriver!” the Doctor said mournfully. “How could I leave my sonic screwdriver at home? I love it.”  
  
Martha rolled her eyes, tucking the timey-whimey detector under her arm. She snatched the can opener of the Doctor’s hand and threw it at one of the chickens. On contact the chicken exploded with the same style as the bunny and the egg. When the smoke cleared, all that was left was the pair of orange metal legs with wires sticking out of them.  
  
“Oh, clever,” said the Doctor looking at it. As he said this the other chickens glared their red eyes at Martha. The Doctor grabbed her hand, “Or maybe not… Run!”  
  
And so they ran, to find themselves trapped in that ally way, pursued by manic, red-eyed, egg-laying, ticked off hens.  
  
“We got into this position because you threw the can-opener at the chickens!” the Doctor accused. “If you hadn’t done that I might have yet rescued my Sgt Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band LP!”  
  
“We got into this position because you spat out your drink out over them,” Martha scolded him. “What were you thinking, anyway?”  
  
The Doctor went red. The image he had in his head popped up again and he blinked harshly to try and force it out. Now the more he tried to get rid of it the less willing it was to go. The Doctor shook his head furiously, “I can’t be blamed for any of this! You’re the one who was going on about dressing up as a bunny!”  
  
“What?” Martha said, more confused than ever.  
  
The Doctor was still trying to force the image out of his head when the hens finally caught up to them. As before they advanced slowly, getting ready to aim some of their exploding eggs at team TARDIS-less. With the Doctor mourning over not having his sonic screwdriver with him he was running out of ideas, being in such a tight spot with such a dirty mind. He couldn’t apply himself to what was going on.  
  
Again, Martha tried to take control of the situation. For the Doctor, she only made matters worse by fishing around in his pockets for something to throw at the hens. She emptied a number of things; ‘Son of Mad’ book, a mouldy sandwich, ‘She Loves You’ single with the initials “S.F” on them, a plunger…  
  
“Ouch!” cried the Doctor as the top knocked him in the face and he fell to the floor, smacking his head.  
  
Martha put down the timey-wimey detector, held the handle of the plunger and aimed it at the chickens. “Get out of here!” and she took a swing at them. “I said go or else!” and she hit one of them. It flared up like its sister, the bunny and the eggs. There was just one more, “Do you really want to antagonise a ticked off woman with a plunger?”  
  
The hen seemed to think about it for a moment. It's eyes caught sight of the timey-wimey detector. With that insight it began to shake violently until, in a burst of feathers and metal, it exploded with a large bang. It was a kamikaze chicken!  
  
The Doctor was just coming to, muttering something in his confusion. She rushed over to him to check for concussion. “Martha,” he murmured, “Martha, please… please, Martha.”  
  
“It’s alright,” she whispered, “you just hit your head.”  
  
“Chickens, chicken waddling around my head…”  
  
“It’s alright, just breath deep.”  
  
“Don’t let Martha know, stupid chickens and bunnies! Strawberry Fields Forever; a Pimms No. 1 cup, with all the gin, and Martha with rabbit ears…”  
  
A frown greased Martha’s forehead, “Rabbit ears?”  
  
The Doctor’s eyes shot open and looked at her, “Martha?”  
  
She asked again, “What do you mean ‘me with rabbit ears’?”  
  
“Err… it’s not what you think!”  
  
“I wasn’t thinking anything… yet.”  
  
At that moment, the timey-wimey detector beeped. The Doctor leapt up straight away and ran too it. He laughed excitedly, “Yes, do you know what this means, Martha?”  
  
“There’s stuff?”  
  
“Yes!” said the Doctor excitedly, “This is the perfect thing to distract me from the bunny thoughts!”  
  
As he rushed off, Martha tilted her head and scowled, “What bunny thoughts?”


End file.
